Personification time!

  • Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    Happy weekend! It was slow at my work so I randomly wrote down some prompts that may be fun or interesting to try and personify in a poem. Here are some ideas, feel free to add more and share your pieces on this thread :)

    - a beached whale
    - letters from your future self
    - your greatest fear, in a physical form, taking you out on a date
    - a hot air balloon crashing
    - an acceptance letter in the trash
    - an empty cookie jar
    - the silence before a kiss
    - a misunderstood coyote
    - a teacup with a tiny crack at an antique shop
    - a forest fire
    - burning tires
    - the bottom of the ocean floor
    - a leaf stuck to windshield wipers
    - leftover confetti from New Year's celebrations
    - a teabag in the toilet
    - salty lip balm
    - a cup of cold, stale coffee
    - a phone constantly ringing
    - a bloody elbow
    - the last sheet of toilet paper
    - a crushed spider
    - a jar of pickles
    - the star on a Christmas tree
    - a garbage/ trash can left out in the cold
    - explosive diarrhea
    - paintbrushes in the sink
    - a camera lens on the street
    - an echo in an abandoned house
    - a broken mirror found in your attic
    - a humorous poem
    - chickens in a closet
    - a stained cashmere sweater
    - a moldy cheeseburger
    - sour milk
    - your favorite childhood stuffed animal
    - a slinky
    - clothes drenched in the rain
    - a sneaker that's underwater
    - a singing staircase
    - spam email
    - a tasteless pizza
    - muddy fingernails
    - an overcrowded gym
    - a meeting room filled with tension
    - a broomstick that gives you blisters
    - a pen that has magical powers
    - a unicorn that can grant wishes
    - socks soaked in bleach
    - a single button trapped in a washing machine or dryer

  • Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago

    Any takers? I'll start!

    a cup of cold, stale coffee:

    I sit in the fog, forgotten,
    rain pooling in my cup.
    I shiver but you don't see -
    you are eons away,
    thinking about a love
    that isn't yours;
    if you warm me up,
    I can comfort you.
    Won't you let me try?

  • Mr. Darcy replied to Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago

    a phone constantly ringing:

    My screaming nerves
    try to reach
    that ghostly carousel of song:
    "ring a ring of roses"
    drowns me, drown me
    with an empty voice
    of ashen tears.

  • prasanna
    4 years ago

    spam email:

    i know you're lonely, i can see
    it in your eyes - you've been
    searching for something more,
    well Love, here i am. just send
    me a thousand dollars through
    western union, for my plane
    ticket.

  • Larry Chamberlin
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    a leaf stuck to windshield wipers

    You have made it abundantly clear
    that our tour de force is running blind
    yet we continue as we are, never willing
    to stop the motorcade long enough
    to clear the debris on the glass.

    It is entirely possible we will eventually creep
    into old age at twenty-five miles per hour:
    not getting anywhere fast in this relationship
    yet slow enough to avoid major collisions
    all for want of the cleaner fluid of change.

  • Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago

    Yes, love these! Keep them coming.

    - a tasteless pizza

    I'll come right out and say it,
    I'm not what you hoped for,
    what you were craving.
    I don't have much meat
    or layers for you to relish,
    and my sauce isn't enough
    to make your eyes roll back
    in delight.
    I'm sorry if I ruin your night,
    I'm just another poorly made
    disappointment in a
    droopy cardboard box.

  • Star
    4 years ago

    - a hot air balloon crashing

    The air within me,
    has been cooling down.
    And from up here,
    you are getting bigger
    rather fast.
    The thought of me
    hugging you,
    deflates me even
    faster.

  • Milly Hayward
    4 years ago

    A Garbage Can left out in the Cold (in UK called Rubbish Bins or Bins)

    A bin's for life but easily forgot
    cast out in all kinds of weather
    A spittoon for your household waste
    from food scraps to a feather

    Alone he stands so proud and brave
    with naught to eat but scraps
    Devoid of clothes to keep him warm
    he endures the coldest snaps

    Unfair I cry tis such a shame
    to work so hard for others
    Yet relegated to stand outside
    away from his smaller brothers

    So have a heart this winter night
    don't leave him out all alone
    consider this his cold, lonely plight
    and remind him he has a home

  • Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    These are so good!

    - leftover confetti from New Year's celebrations

    I've strayed so far
    from your hands,
    how you first regarded me
    with infectious childlike glee.
    I lit up the room,
    gracing each corner
    of the room.
    I ran through her hair,
    trickled down your neck,
    and now we're strangers.
    The party's over,
    the memory finished,
    the living room just a
    living room.

    When you wake,
    you'll use a dust pan
    to bury my remains,
    and I'll say goodbye
    until the next year.

  • Michael
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    A meeting room filled with tension.

    Shirts pulled from the neck
    sweat hurtling down the side
    of faces
    Itchy beards
    and noses twitch.

    The ends of pencils nibbled
    like sticks of rock-
    some weaved between fingers

    Snap!

    The backs of chairs rub up
    the wrong way.

    The weight of my pen rests
    upon my shoulders,
    as I take the minutes.

    The final agenda arrives

    -any other business.

  • Star
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    -a forest fire

    The rage within me is rubbing
    me the wrong way.
    I feel the heat kneading my trunks,
    leaves become spices to the
    moisture I have left,
    as life flee off my branches.

    I hear them wailing, for I have
    paralyzed them. The smell
    of the burnt fur can’t escape my
    senses, and I see little ones hugging
    their mothers, begging for dear life.

  • Poet on the Piano
    4 years ago, updated 4 years ago

    - a singing staircase

    I call out to her
    when she darts by
    to let her know
    she is not alone.
    I've seen her first steps,
    cautious, then filled with joy.
    She used to run and dance,
    her footsteps light then heavy
    as I sang her the blues.
    Now, I hear tired and weary feet
    when she comes home.
    Sometimes, she can't muster the
    strength to make it down the steps,
    so I hold my notes a little longer,
    refusing to be silent for too long.

    I sing in ballads now, hoping
    to one day invite her to dance
    like the olden days.